Judge Me Worthy
by Snarkoleptic
Summary: Companion to Twice Bitten.  A series of connected one-shots revealing events from the Blight and points of view that Zevran wouldn't have the chance to see directly.  Each story refers to its base chapter in Twice Bitten to prevent spoilers.
1. Foreword

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond.

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><p><em>My Maker, know my heart<br>Take from me a life of sorrow  
>Lift me from a world of pain<br>Judge me worthy of Your endless pride_

-Transfigurations 12:3

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><p><strong>Foreword<strong>

Welcome to Judge Me Worthy, which will become the repository for a collection of one-shots related to Twice Bitten. The tale of the Blight as recounted by Zevran in Twice Bitten, while it will be complete, can only show what he himself has seen during the travels of the group.

But there are always stories within stories, and each character will, of course, have their own impressions and backstory that are just as important to the Blight and their presence within the group. And, occasionally, Aedan might have something to say himself.

And so we have this connected series, with individual events and points of view Zevran himself can't capture. Each story is labeled with its related chapter in Twice Bitten, as they may contain hints or outright spoilers for what's going on in the larger story.

As always, thank you for reading!

-Snark


	2. Jowan: Inquisition

**Title: **Inquisition

**Disclaimer:** BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond.

**Related ****Twice Bitten**** Chapter: ** Seven – Magic and Mystery

**POV: **Jowan

**Characters: ** Jowan, Aedan, and Alistair

**Author's Notes: **Just what did Aedan have in mind to discuss with Jowan in order to distract him from what Wynne was doing with his demon?

Reviews are always welcome!

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><p>Jowan couldn't decide what to think about the fact that he'd been left alone again. Huh. For that matter, he couldn't decide what to <em>feel<em> about it, either. Ever since his arrival at the Circle as a boy, he had always been most comfortable without others around, or at least without others paying him any attention. Alone meant no one was criticizing him. Alone meant no one was mocking him.

But _here_… The cold stone and the iron bars reminded him altogether too much of his trip through the basements of the circle, passing the cells they kept for mages who didn't – or couldn't – follow the rules. The bad ones. Like himself. He was only surprised that _this_ was the first time he'd ever ended up locked away somewhere. Every time he thought he could take comfort in the absence of anyone around him, he was gripped with the knowledge that _no one_ was around him in the near-pitch of the dungeons and a new panic rose in his chest at the idea that he might be forgotten.

Which was all he'd ever wanted, wasn't it? To be forgotten? But not like this.

He'd long since given up on hiding any of his weakness, as adept as others seemed to be at provoking it anyway. So when he heard approaching steps and saw the flickering torchlight spilling around the corner into the hall that contained his cell, he didn't bother trying to stem the tears of relief or the little mewling sounds that passed his lips for a moment, somehow managing to carry with them relief and gratitude and fear for whoever came near. Even knowing what a pathetic show he was making, he thought it better to get it over with now than try to bottle it and end up making a bigger fool of himself later.

And then he saw it was _them_, those two who had filled the space before him days before. _What could _they_ possibly want from me now? They already sent me back here._ Thinking this brought up in him another wave of gratitude for allowing him to retreat and at the same time he felt the bitterness of having been rejected from any sort of company. Again. But those thoughts fled when the short one, who didn't quite manage to match his height even hunched as he was from the torture, passed a loaf of bread and a skin of water through the bars. Jowan couldn't remember the last time he'd been fed, but he _did_ remember the mold that had grown on the bread he'd been given then. This loaf looked fresh.

The two men took up positions on either side of the cell, leaning against the wall and gesturing for him to get on with eating. He was a bit – all right, more than a bit – self-conscious about the way he bolted the food down, chasing it with almost all of the water he'd been given, but then he remembered he'd already resigned himself to looking piteous anyway. It was only after he'd finished that the short one fit the torch through a hook on the wall across the corridor, leaned back in the spot he'd taken, and spoke to him as if he hadn't just seen a meal devoured in a manner more beast than human.

"I'd be Aedan, then, and that'd be Alistair." The short one nodded at the blond one and fell silent, looking expectantly through the bars.

After a moment, the mage realized what they were waiting for. "Um… I-I'm Jowan." They had to know already, didn't they?

"Good! I'm in the way of being a sneaky bastard, Alistair was to be a Templar but decided it was for the birds, and you're a mage." Jowan flinched a bit – all right, more than a bit – at hearing what Alistair _almost_ was, wondering why he'd be here, even if the blond man did let out a half laugh at hearing that description of his exit from the Order. Still, Aedan went on as if he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. "Now we all know each other, how about telling me what kind of mage you are? What kind of magic are you about?"

"You… you know I'm a blood mage. I used that to escape from the Circle with-with Lily, because she said they were going to make me T-Tranquil."

"Well, yes, but you're also a _living_ mage, so you can't have used all your blood just for that. What else do you use? Have you used blood magic since you got away from the Circle?"

"Maker, no. I…" Jowan had to take a minute to get used to the rapid-fire pace of the questions being flung at him. The last time this had happened, he'd been strapped to a table with a much larger man standing beside him and doing hideous _things_ that caused him no end of pain. "I-I-I mostly learned Elemental, but I… I was never very good at it. They never taught me more than basics and I can't control it. When I want it to work, it doesn't, and the simplest things turn out terribly. I… thought the blood magic would make me better at the rest of it, but it… didn't. So there wasn't any point to doing any more and it's not right anyway and I never should have."

Jowan was breathing heavily, almost resigned to the panic he knew was coming. He'd never handled it well when instructors at the Circle had questioned him about his abilities, but _now_ the one called Aedan had moved to stand square in front of him and was _looking_ at him. It was terrifying, like the man could see right into his head, but Jowan couldn't make himself look away.

And in spite of that, Aedan's tone stayed just as easy as it had been when he spoke. "And what of the torture, then? Isn't that the kind of thing that would make a mage reach for a demon? You've already got one, so why not bring it out and put an end to that kind of pain?"

"I-I couldn't. I mean I _could_, because just being allowed to do that would have given her what she wanted, but… I couldn't. It's not right." Jowan knew he was sweating now, as profusely as he had when he was afraid of what the torturer would reach for next.

"So once you realized you'd erred, you decided to stay away from the demons and the blood magic and you stuck to it, even in the face of unimaginable pain." Aedan stated this as fact; it wasn't a question. "And what do you want for yourself now?"

"I… you heard me say I poisoned the Arl. It doesn't matter who told me to do it. I have to be judged, I have to be sentenced. I have to d-"

"No," Alistair cut in, surprising Jowan with the force of the interruption. "You _don't_ have to die to set things right. The Arl hasn't, and we'll be seeing he doesn't if we have anything to say about it."

"But the only other option is Tranquility and I can't… I can't…" Lost in panic now, Jowan stumbled against the bars and struggled just to draw breath.

"No." This from Aedan again. "There are other ways to balance the scales. Sit tight a minute, get yourself together."

The two men disappeared around the corner they'd come from, leaving Jowan with hints of a discussion taking place. He could hear voices, but not words, and then… it happened, as they came back to the cell, and he looked at them, shifting his eyes from one to the other with the plea naked on his face. "She's… she's _gone. _The demon. What did you… _Why_?"

It was Aedan who answered. "We met someone recently who thought you deserve better. But she should really tell you about that herself, when she's able. For now…" Jowan could only stare as Aedan reached into a pocket and brought out a roll of leather, from which he extracted two tiny metal… sticks, the mage supposed. And in almost no time at all, the bars to his cell swung open. "That lock was terrible. No wonder the other cells are empty. A body could probably pick one open with a strand of hair. Come on, then."

Jowan tried to step and ended up falling against Aedan. "I… I can't."

"Yes, you can." Shifting, Aedan pulled one of the mage's arms over his shoulders and bent at the knees a couple of times to test his hold on the man's weight. "We'll explain a few things on the way up then, yeah?"


	3. Wynne: Powerless

**Title: **Powerless

**Disclaimer:** BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond.

**Related ****Twice Bitten**** Chapter: **Seven – Magic and Mystery, with a loose reference or two later on.

**POV: ** Wynne

**Characters:** Wynne, Aedan, and the ghosts of others.

**Author's Notes:** Aedan and Wynne had something of an understanding of each other from the start. **Warning: gets a bit dark.** Other characters are not named, though I believe they'll be recognizable enough from memory.

Reviews are always welcome!

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><p>She thinks she is being followed through this twisted maze of illusions, but she cannot see past them to evaluate her pursuer. She knows she has been caught in the demon's spell. She knows her surroundings are false, for all they ring true. She is perfectly aware of the temptation that will come, and she is determined to give these creatures no indication as to which form it should take.<p>

But it is difficult, withholding her reaction to the images passing before her eyes. Such a trial she has never known.

True, when she arrived at the Circle a lifetime ago, she thought she had come home. Here she was allowed to practice her magic. Here she never had to hide what she was. There were no angry villagers, no scorn, no threats.

At first.

Oh, the peace lasted well past her apprenticeship and into her adult years. She'd seen any number of changes to the guard, as it were, new regimes with varying undertones, but in the two decades since she had taken her post as a Senior Enchanter those whispers had grown dark. It had taken almost half that time for her to realize that the security and the sense of home that had greeted her was no longer there to welcome the new mages to come to the Circle.

She had wept, during that night and many more after, for the home she'd lost and for the home she could no longer offer to others. And she had worried, for she hadn't known how else to teach her charges to find their own peace ,their own safety. The Circle was the only home mages could know in this world, and if acceptance had become submission, she still could think of no other way to protect the apprentices in her care than trying to convince them they belonged and praying for the return of a gentler hand to hold them.

She no longer believes it, but still she must accept. Still she must submit. The proof of her shattered illusion surrounds her with every step, but it is proof also of the fate of those who do not accept, who cannot submit. And in the face of two decades of her own failure, she is powerless to stop it, the brutal realities she has never witnessed nonetheless true in her mind.

She steps forward, the Fade around her shaping itself into the image of a classroom, and she hears her exasperation echoing in her ears as she addresses the stumbling boy with the dark hair and the crooked nose. _This is _not_ difficult. Concentrate, and you will find it to be quite easy._ As she moves toward the door on the other side, desperate to escape the ill effect of her _teaching_, the echoes change and she hears the other apprentices laughing, mocking the young man for his lack of mastery of even the most basic elements of his magic.

There is a moment of merciful shapelessness to the Fade as she passes beyond the room, but it is brief. She is walking through the library now, and she sees herself berating a young Dalish elf for his refusal to answer a question. A much older failure, this, but no less bitter for the time that has passed. In the darkest hours of her sleepless nights, she likes to think she knew even then that a kind word was what the lad had needed and that she had chosen instead to attempt forcing her way through his walls. As she reaches the stairs, she hears his emotional outburst, his accusations that she will never tolerate anything less than utter perfection.

Of course she won't. Not least within herself.

The Fade releases her again at the stairs. Still she perceives a follower, closer now than before though she is unable to see who – or what – is at her heels. And the images will not relent.

Darker, now, the cells beneath the Tower that betray every notion of _home_ she has ever had. She was years beyond her Harrowing before she'd realized these were more than a tale of horror spread to new apprentices, and every time these visions are called before her she thinks first of the lies she told to comfort the children who heard the reality. She will not look away from the image of the man chained nude, ankles bound – boy, Maker, he's only a _boy_ – so fair of features and so very young, though he does not utter a sound as the whip bites into his back. She has never before seen the wounds as they were inflicted. She has merely treated them, with poultices and bandages only lest the Templar at her side strike out at the least hint of her healing magics.

Still she knows each mark upon the boy's skin. She has treated every one, and for every swab and every treatment she has cursed her inability to prevent his pain. So it is only fitting that she bears it with him, as much as she is able.

And the Fade releases her again at the end of the hall she has walked, only to place her in the garden beyond the walls of the Tower, surrounded by the ghosts of those she lost. To a Sword of Mercy, to suicide under the weight of the Circle's confines, to her failure to convey the dangers of the creatures of the Fade. She recognizes and meets every face standing in accusation, the offer of the Fade made plain: the retreat of all her past missteps.

She recognizes the one face that shows no blame.

Her follower is here, that young man from the tower, still silent, his eyes spilling over as he steps out of the darkness and into the garden. In the strange intimacy of a dream, however, she can see at least that the regret he feels is not her own, certain though she is that he has seen her every nightmare come to life.

He bares his blades before her and turns to the shades of her past.

This one, she thinks, is not yet powerless. As he strikes for her at her memories, she prays for him that he never will be.


	4. Alistair: Catalyst

**Title: ** Catalyst

**Disclaimer:** BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond.

**Related ****Twice Bitten**** Chapter: ** Eight - Beginnings

**POV: **Alistair

**Characters:** Alistair, Aedan

**Author's Notes:** Alistair chases Aedan down after it becomes necessary for the Warden to disclose the events that led to his induction into the order.

Reviews are always welcome!

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><p>All Alistair could think as he followed Aedan down the hall was that there was no way he could have gone through a story like that without any display of emotion. The door to his friend's room was just closing as he left Wynne's quarters, and when he got there he had a moment's doubt as to whether he should interfere. Would he want Aedan to see him after something like that?<p>

The thing was, Aedan _had._ The man had calmly stood there and held him up while he spewed out all of his grief over Duncan and the other Wardens, all those men his friend had never met. And Alistair had felt just fine about letting him do it, but now… Maker, all the things he'd just heard had to have happened no more than a fortnight before they reached Lothering.

And… hadn't he felt better, somehow, after Aedan had pulled him away and let him grieve? He really didn't know what he was doing, but it didn't seem right not to at least acknowledge that. But what if his friend had already gotten past it? He couldn't have, it hadn't even been a month.

_You can stand here in the hall and argue with yourself all night, Alistair._ He took a deep breath, trying and failing to smooth out the knot in his gut, and knocked on the door. He was almost ready to give it up and walk away when he heard Aedan's voice calling him in.

His friend looked… empty, Alistair thought, sitting on the bed and staring at the wall. He recognized it now. How could he not have seen it before? But Aedan had said on the boat, going to the Circle, that he didn't want… Maker, but Alistair was out of his depth.

_So what else is new?_

"What can I do for you, Alistair?" Aedan sounded flat, hollow. And _ouch_. Why would he just assume Alistair wanted something? And it was on him all at once, that all he'd done since they met was ask for things. Don't make me do this, help me with that, I have this sister, it's not fair this got pinned on _me_.

Feeling small, cursing his voice for matching it, the blond man leaned on the small desk in the small room. "I… That couldn't have been easy." _No kidding, Alistair. _"I'm sorry. That was obvious. What I mean is, if you need… you know, anything…"

"No, Alistair, I really don't. I've taken enough from everyone who's counted on me already."

"But… That can't be right. It _isn't_ right, for you to think you have to carry all the rest of us."

"Someone has to do it, yeah?"

"I…" _Yep. Completely out of my depth. But he's right. _"I want to say I'm sorry for that, but that just makes it sound like it's about me again. And it's not. Or it shouldn't be. I don't… I don't really know _how_ to be what you need, right now, but I want to try. And…" He lined up his words and fired them off before he could convince himself to shut up. "And you haven't failed anyone. Not in Highever, and not since."

Something must have been right, because Aedan looked over at him then, curious. "No? Then what would you say to the families of everyone slaughtered, to those left behind by the ones who died so I could get away?"

Alistair started to sweat, just a little, but he couldn't back down now. "Maybe I'm wrong, Aedan, but… How would it have been better if there was no one left to see Howe pays for what he did? And how could you have prevented any of it? You're not supposed to expect a knife in the back from your friends, are you?" He knew he was asking, praying for his friend to tell him he was right.

"Ha. I've said that to myself any number of times. Not sure I'll ever believe it, told as I was from the day I was old enough to listen the proper role of my_ 'station.'_"

"Then, maybe… Not that I'm suggesting you don't, please don't believe that, but maybe it's because you listened so well to all of it and _didn't_ fail them they were willing to… do what they did, for you to get out. Maybe the best way to thank them for it and honor what _all_ of you had is to go on and get them the justice they're owed?"

Alistair had a few very long minutes to be terrified he'd said the wrong thing. Very, very long minutes during which Aedan just looked at him, before he finally said in a voice almost too low to be heard, "You could be right."

The blond man immediately regretted the sigh of relief that escaped him at hearing this, and froze like a boy caught misbehaving. And then he sighed again when his friend started laughing.

"It occurs to me we're sitting in your old home, Alistair. How is it all this is such new territory for you?"

"Well…" He hesitated. This wasn't why he was here, but…

"Yes, I realize it's about you," Aedan said, shaking his head in amusement. "But it _can_ be, without any guilt from you, because I asked."

"It's only… the castle wasn't really my home, when I lived here." Now it was Alistair's turn to look away, to face the wall. And it didn't matter what his friend had just said, he _did_ feel guilty. "And I told you they spent all that time telling me to forget who my father was, that it wasn't my place to do anything really important."

"If this wasn't your home, where _did_ you live?" Aedan sounded thoroughly confused. And when Alistair said, quietly enough not to be heard if one wasn't listening closely, that he'd spent most of the time in the stables, Aedan shot to his feet and sounded thoroughly livid. Even if all he managed to say for a while was some of the most inventive profanity the blond man had ever heard. "Sorry. I'm sorry for that, truly. You can't be surprised, knowing what I was raised to think about responsibility and all that. And… thank you, Alistair. For trusting me, and for reminding me there are people who need me. Past and present."

"So… you're going back to things as they were? No. Just, no. You're not taking it all on by yourself. If I… will you teach me? The things you do? Maybe you're right, you have your duty, but so do I. I just…"

"You just need someone to show you what the bastard who had charge of your _care_ never bothered to teach. So yes, I will." Aedan held up a hand now, knowing what would come. "And you're not _taking_ from me. You're giving, being willing to learn how to help. And I just remembered…"

Aedan fished around in his packs, coming up with something that glinted in the candlelight. "Found this in the study downstairs while I was looking for… well, nothing really, but you know me, and with one thing and another I ended up forgetting."

Duty or not, Alistair thought for a moment how it had felt hearing Aedan tell him he'd been right. And as he took the trinket he'd been convinced was lost to his own rash stupidity, he thought he might understand, now, what his friend had said on the road the other day about rewards. He could learn to like this.


	5. Isabela: Cameo

**Title: ** Cameo

**Disclaimer:** BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond.

**Related ****Twice Bitten**** Chapter: ** Nine – Sword and Song

**POV:** Isabela

**Characters: ** Isabela

**Author's Notes:** Never let it be said that the sharpest blade in Llomeryn left a favor unreturned. Note: though we're on the Origins timeline, I can no longer see Isabela as anyone but the "dusky goddess" from Kirkwall.

Reviews are always welcome!

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><p><em>Not to mention the sharpest <em>wit_ in Llomeryn, sweetheart. And elsewhere._

I'm always thoroughly confused at the hang-ups some people have. Take him, for example. Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Zev said he is. Looks it, too; strong and commanding, even if I'm more interested in the young and the delectable.

What? I wouldn't be in the _Pearl_ of all places if I wasn't after the kind of fun you can only find ashore.

He leans so casually, and perhaps he really is interested in learning from me, but it's plain on his face what he truly wants. Every time he looks at Zevran, it's right there, but even I can see the poor man wouldn't have the first clue. I have _got_ to get round to doing up those illustrations. Lonely souls and tuber farmers everywhere will thank me, I'm sure.

And what in the world has happened to Zevran? If he hadn't been _seen_ offing the old man he could have come with me, and I'd lay odds he'd have seen it on the man's face as well. But he's completely oblivious, even if I can tell he's been thinking the _same_ thing for twice as long.

Honestly, Ferelden is the last place in Thedas anyone would need to be restrained, though it is a shame I won't be on the receiving end when the cork finally pops for that Warden. Hmm. Perhaps I should suggest trading the duel for a drink. Or eight.

No, that won't work. More's the pity. He has to _know_, doesn't he? Might be worth the price of the ticket just to see the look on his face if I told him just what he's thinking.

Ooh, he is a bit more nimble than I'd given him credit for with the bulk on his shoulders. Quick study, too, even if he does insist on the length of a sword in one hand. Mmm, now I have to think about the length of his _other_ sword. Possibly in his other _hand_. It's entirely his fault, really, going topless to a workout. Maybe I should try that sometime, see what it gets me.

Oh, now _this_ is delicious. He's looking everywhere _but_ at Zevran. And Zev can't take his eyes off the man. Andraste's perky nipples, elf, why aren't you _touching _him? He's _right here_! Why does it so often take a set of tits to show a man what he's really after?

Augh. At least we're not having any issues with the mainsails. I _did_ tell them they weren't getting a lesson for nothing.

I wonder how long it will be before they realize they ought to thank me.


	6. Leliana: Faith

**Title: ** Faith

**Disclaimer:** BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond.

**Related ****Twice Bitten**** Chapter:** Ten – Progress and Pretense

**POV: **Leliana

**Characters:** Leliana, Jowan

**Author's Notes:** Having seen Jowan's strong reaction to Alistair's use of his Templar training, Leliana shares with him her own opinions on the events to set his mind at ease. This came out of absolutely nowhere – Leliana started talking and ran away.

Reviews are always welcome!

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><p>"Oh, this is lovely! You can just feel autumn floating in from the sea beyond the docks." Leliana led Jowan on a meandering stroll through the district, not particularly caring where they ended up. "I know you haven't seen much of the seasons so close, but I hope you come to agree. The last breath of warmth from a retreating summer before the chill truly begins to settle is its own kind of magic, isn't it?"<p>

Jowan had no idea what was expected of him, trudging along in her wake and trying not to disturb anyone they passed. This certainly didn't seem like a very… safe place to be, but the bard didn't appear concerned in the least. "I… suppose so." His voice pitched up at the end, almost questioning.

"Oh, you must forgive my distraction. There is always something beautiful to be found in the world, if you just know where to look." Leliana turned her head to look at the mage. "I wanted to talk with you about what happened this morning, with the man in Genitivi's house. You didn't look at _all_ at home with what Alistair had to do to keep us protected."

Unbidden, Jowan's mind returned to the Circle, and the whispers of what the Templars would do to those who wouldn't – or couldn't – follow the rules. He thought of Tranquility, a fate he had nearly had to endure. Must have, because Lily wouldn't have lied to him. Not about that. "It just… That's what all the Templars say. Protection."

"I can only imagine what you must be thinking of. I know a little, now. Did you know I talked at some length with Wynne yesterday? Of course you didn't, you weren't there in our room."

"With Wynne? She was always the one pushing everyone to accept life in the Circle."

Leliana inclined her head to acknowledge this as fact. "She has seen many things herself. Many mages, she has said, can go their entire lives without being troubled directly by those posted in the Tower. She may not thank me for saying so to you, but I think she regrets that she knows no other way."

Jowan was silent for a time, keeping pace with the bard as she wove through crowds and crates. "But the ones they do trouble…"

"Yes. Wynne has told me some of the things that take place there in the Maker's name. I didn't want to believe it at first, but you can hardly doubt sincerity from her of all people. All this came from my questions to her about faith. I had come to question mine, you see, in thinking of my past and the task that is before us still, the confrontation we will have with Marjolaine. Though she has seen many things, Wynne's faith has endured."

Jowan couldn't grasp the idea. "If you _know_ what they do to mages, if _she_ knows what they do to us, how can you claim to believe any of it? Why would the Maker create us this way if all we're meant for is to be punished?"

"I won't pretend to know everything, Jowan. I was not there when Aedan went to seek help for Connor, and I have never been at any other time to any other Circle. But Wynne has also told me of Templars who do not treat mages so, and I believe some of them may feel the same as the mages about their given duty. But those who _do_ treat others so poorly… I do not believe their faith is pure, Jowan. Not when it is manifested by inflicting upon others a scripture that demands suffering. Not when all they can read in their doctrine is pain."

Leliana guided the mage to a stop at the end of a pier, pausing to enjoy the crisp autumn wind rising from the waves below, grateful that he seemed to be giving sincere thought to her words.

Eventually, Jowan settled on speaking his mind. "But Alistair is still a Templar, and with all that I've seen... It's just like at the Circle, having someone always nearby who can leave me completely helpless."

"We all have our pasts, Jowan. You've certainly seen that today. You saw what Zevran and I did with that man. Do you hold any fear that we will one day restrain _you_ and whisper threats in your ears?"

"Well… no." Jowan realized with a start that this was true. He hadn't been at all afraid of what the bard and the assassin had done.

"And so you realize that whatever our beginnings that gave us such skills, we can exercise our good judgment as to when to use them. I believe that you can do the same. There is blood magic in your own past, and yet you denounced it when you saw its true effects on those around you. I believe the same of Alistair. We all have our pasts," the bard repeated. "What do you suppose is in _his_?"

Seeking his contemplation more than his response, Leliana placed a hand at Jowan's elbow and guided him gently to resume his steps. She was pleased when he did not speak again during the walk back to the Pearl; it gave her faith that he would see the truth.


End file.
